


Five Times Dean felt Out Of His Depth and One Time He Definitely Was

by JessJesstheBest



Category: Supernatural
Genre: 5+1 Things, All knowledge about fostering comes from the movie Shazam (2019), Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Established Relationship, Fluff, Foster Care, Foster Parent Dean Winchester, Human AU, M/M, Parenthood, Swearing, foster parent au, fostering
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-16
Updated: 2020-05-16
Packaged: 2021-03-02 04:01:46
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,449
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23798911
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JessJesstheBest/pseuds/JessJesstheBest
Summary: It was with a sore shin and a broken model P-51D Mustang that Dean began to consider he wasn’t quite ready to be a foster parent.Or it's exactly what it says in the title.
Relationships: Castiel/Dean Winchester
Comments: 46
Kudos: 230





	Five Times Dean felt Out Of His Depth and One Time He Definitely Was

**Author's Note:**

> This is for the [Perfect Pair Bang](https://perfectpairbang.fandom.com/wiki/Perfect_Pair_Bang_Wiki) with whom [Hectatess](https://hectatess.tumblr.com/) was my perfect pair!  
> We collaborated on everything from early story-boarding to the art. It was a true co-run project.

####  I

It was with a sore shin and a broken model P-51D Mustang that Dean began to consider he wasn’t quite ready to be a foster parent.

He’d thought he was. He was sure of it. After the weeks and months of stress and social worker visits and forms and a  _ lot _ of cleaning on Dean’s part, he and Cas were as ready as they would ever be to foster.

But here he was, balancing on one foot with an impertinent 8-year-old glaring up at him even though  _ she _ was the one who’d kicked  _ him _ , and Dean was  _ not going to yell _ .

He  _ wasn’t _ .

“Krissy,” he said, instead, through gritted teeth. “What did we say about kicking?”

“ _ We _ didn’t say anything.  _ You _ said don’t do it. But  _ I _ say you can’t tell me what to do.”

She geared up to kick him again and Dean could swear he was going to have to fight this child but luckily Cas swooped in, scooping her up from behind.

They’d learned that a vertical lift was only giving her legs more range for the kicking, so he lifted her bridal style, his arm coming all the way around her knees to keep them from flailing out.

That didn’t stop her from squirming, her body bucking like a fresh-caught sea bass. __

“Lemme go, lemme  _ go. _ ”

“This is something called ‘cause and effect’,”Cas explained calmly. Or as calmly as someone could while holding a struggling child. “It’s where something happens – the cause – and something else happens – the effect.”

She clearly was not listening but Cas wasn’t known to pass up a teachable moment.

“Can you guess what the cause was here, Krissy? To lead to the effect of me holding you like this?”

“Yeah,  _ Krissy _ , what would be your guess?”

“Dean,” Cas admonished. Dean just scowled at him, rubbing his shin pointedly.

Krissy still struggled but her movements were getting weaker as she tired herself out. It was moments like these Dean really appreciated the meaty strength of Cas’s arms.

She breathed heavily, her face going from rage to pout.

“Why am I holding you, Krissy?” Cas asked again.

Krissy crossed her arms, her mouth screwed up with the clear intention of never answering Cas’s question.

Cas sighed and sat down pretzel style on the floor right where he was standing. He adjusted his hold on her, centering her more in his lap: less of a restraining hold and more of a comforting one.

She continued to pout, crossing her legs from where they hung over the edge of Cas’s, but she made herself comfortable in his lap. She seemed to resign herself to this parenting even if – to her anyway – Dean and Cas weren’t her parents.

Which was shitty but she wasn’t exactly wrong. Dean and Cas were foster parents – brand spanking new ones. They’d only been approved a little over a month ago and Krissy was their first placement.

Dean and Cas had been together for forever it felt like. Married six years this coming October. They’d always talked about kids but neither of them knew how to do it. A surrogate? Overseas adoption? Both of those options felt so… wrong for them. Not wrong in general but–

Dean had lived in a boy’s home for a while as a kid. It wasn’t quite the same as foster care but, as a kid, to be in a community with adults that cared for you when you didn’t know where your own father was or when he was coming back was really important for him. And to meet kids going through the same thing helped him feel less alone.

He’d told Cas all this and Cas had immediately agreed. Cas’s own childhood had been less tenuous, more stable, but he’d lived in a big family with many siblings with an ever rotating group of friends so the energy of a foster home appealed to him in a big way.

So they’d applied. And it had taken… a long ass time.

Dean had been assured that it would have taken a long time for any couple and it wasn’t that they were a same-sex couple or that he was a mechanic or there was a history of alchoholism in his family that was making it take so long but their home had never been cleaner than when Dean had been obsessively scrubbing every surface waiting for the verdict to come in.

And it came. And they were approved. And then they were foster parents.

And there was Krissy.

Dean watched Cas bite his lip and he knew he was holding back from calling her ‘honey’ or ‘sweetheart’. They’d been warned about overly familiar nicknames and how it was more likely to put off newly placed foster kids than endear the kid to them. But Cas was a sappy fuck. And so was Dean but Dean didn’t currently have a child in his lap.

“Krissy,” he started instead. “Are you going to answer me?”

Krissy sucked her lips into her mouth, shaking her head. Her arms were still tightly crossed.

God, but she was a little shit.

That was fine. Dean could be a little shit, too.

He grunted, planting himself on the floor in front of his husband, wincing as his jeans made contact with the forming bruise on his shin from Krissy’s incessant kicks. He configured his legs so they bowed out around the two of them so he could get in nice and close.

And then poked her.

Not hard. Just a little tap on her knee. Just to pick at her.

She scowled at him. He poked her elbow. She kept scowling. He poked her forehead, her hip, her wrist, her ear, her thigh, her neck. He was needling at her: not quite tickling, but nudging. If there was anything Dean knew how to do, it was be relentlessly annoying.

Her scowl started twitching around the seventh poke. Her shoulder came up to her ear when Dean poked her neck and he could swear he saw a smile. He knew he’d won when she let out a giggle after he poked her in the ribs.

He smirked, the only amount of gloating he’d allow himself for successfully manipulating an 8-year-old. 

“So, Krissy? You know why Cas is holding you?”

She scowled again but her arms were much less tightly crossed. She was more slumped into Cas’s chest, relaxed out of her temper tantrum.

“Is it because I broke the plane?”

Cas shook his head, his face solemn. “No, though I didn’t like that.” He adjusted her in his lap again. If Dean were to guess, he’d say Cas’s legs were falling asleep. “The cause was you acting out with violence. I’m not going to punish you for accidentally breaking something, but I will do what I can to keep you from hurting other people.”

Krissy wouldn’t make eye contact. Her brows were furrowed in anger and her cheeks were red, but her lower lip trembled.

“I didn’t mean to break it.”

Cas squeezed her a bit. “I know, honey.”

Dean smiled at him. Cas scrunched his face at him like  _ ‘Yeah, I know I slipped, shut up.’ _

Krissy let herself be squeezed, glancing up at Dean before looking away again. “Dean looked mad.”

Cas shrugged. “That’s just his face.”

Dean’s expression twisted in offense. Cas blew him a kiss, tilting his head in Krissy’s direction.

Dean sighed, scooching closer across the floor.

“I wasn’t mad, Krissy. Just worried. You know how much Cas likes his planes.”

She nodded, looking more upset.

He reached forward and put his hand over hers. “But you didn’t do it on purpose. And getting defensive and kicking me wasn’t the right thing, right?”

Krissy shrugged. He didn’t know if she agreed with him or if she just didn’t know what defensive meant.

But fuck him, he wasn’t a child psychologist. He didn’t know how to explain it better.

So instead, he stood up, picking Krissy out of Cas’s arms and throwing her over his shoulder. She shrieked, but in a way that was more of a giggle than an objection. He couldn’t help but smile at it. 

“Now, I’m gonna go clean up some plane parts. But my leg is  _ super _ hurt. So I think I’m gonna need someone to help me.” He bounced Krissy a bit on his shoulder, making her giggle again. “You know anyone like that, lil girl?”

Krissy sighed, like Dean was really putting her out, but she didn’t push away from him. For Dean that was progress. “I guess I can help.”

“All right!” Dean crowed, he put her back on the ground. “You can pick up all the little pieces and put them on the table. I’m too old to stoop over like that.”

She scowled at him but there was a twinkle in her eye.

They only ended up keeping Krissy for a couple weeks – her dad’s case being kicked out of court and further placement no longer being needed – but she was their first real taste of what it was like being parents.

After she left and Cas was holding Dean in their bed, his arms keeping Dean close to his chest, Dean knew he missed her. Dean missed her too. But they’d get another kid.

Dean hoped they were ready for it.

  
  
  
  


####  II

It had been a year and a half since Krissy. They’d been placed with a few more temporary fosters – kids whose parents were being investigated by social services or who needed a place to stay while the next of kin made accommodations for them after the tragic loss of their parents. Stuff like that.

But this was the first time they were being placed with a long-term foster. They’d gotten his file: Jack Kline. Five years old. Mother died in childbirth, father unknown. No other known family. Passed through six foster homes, always given back to child services because “he’s too weird, he scares the other children.”

Which, to Dean, literally sounded like the backstory for Lord Voldemort, but he wasn’t going to judge this child too harshly before meeting him.

Dean and Cas sat next to each other in the waiting room, Dean’s left leg bouncing. Cas had put his hand on his right knee to keep that one from bouncing but the jitters had just skipped on over to the other side. Dean’s anxiety needed to make itself known.

Cas squeezed his knee. “He’s just a child, Dean. We’ve met plenty of children so far.”

“Not one with a rap sheet. Not yet. What if he’s one of those child murderers? I saw that shit on SVU.”

So maybe Dean was judging the kid a  _ little _ . It was self defense!

Cas rolled his eyes, leaning his upper arm into Dean’s. “He’s not a child murderer. Stop watching that show.”

“Sociopath, right? Isn’t that what it’s called when kids torture animals or whatever? That they show sociopathic tendencies?”

“He hasn’t tortured any animals. He’s not a sociopath. He’s just weird.” Cas knocked his knee against Dean’s. “You should be able to relate.”

Dean knocked his knee back but his other leg was still bouncing.

Cas sighed, moving from the seat next to Dean to crouch in front of him, his hands on both of Dean’s knees now, stilling them. “Dean, look at me.”

Dean did, doing his best to let his eyes focus on his husband instead of continuing to nervously skitter around the waiting room. 

When his eyes landed squarely on Cas, Cas gave him a smile and a knee squeeze in reward.

“I know you’re scared,” Cas started. “But we’re ready for this. There’s nothing you can do to mess this kid up. We can only make his life better from here. Okay?”

Dean knew Cas was stretching the truth. There was a lot Dean could do wrong. He could yell too much. He could be too standoffish. He could be like every other foster parent the kid had ever had and give him back for being too weird. He could fail him. A lot.

But instead of saying any of that he said, “Okay.” Because Cas had said ‘we’ at the end there. And even if Dean knew he himself was prone to fucking up, he and Cas together were always better.

Cas smiled at him before leaning in to place a soft kiss on his lips. Just a press of mouths – an ‘I love you,’ a ‘You’re okay,’ an ‘I’m here.’ Dean put his hands over Cas’s where they were resting on his knees and tried to give all of that back. He felt Cas smile.

There was a knock on the door that led back to the waiting room (which was absurd – it was a public space – but Dean appreciated Jack’s case worker’s attempt at giving them privacy) and the door opened with a “Mr. and Mr. Winchester?”

Cas nodded, standing up and pulling his hands out from under Dean’s grabbing his right hand as he went to pull him up. He continued to hold it as they followed her to the back room where Jack was being held, his thumb rubbing over Dean’s knuckle.

They were led back to a playroom – the walls gray and dingy but a colorful rug on the floor strewn with the kind of cheap and uncomplicated toys you see in the waiting room of a pediatrician’s office. 

There was a child sitting on the side of the rug; not quite in the middle as if he’d learned to stay out of the way. He was playing with one of the less fun looking toys – something definitely below his learning level. Dean couldn’t guess if this was a result of the kid being shunted from one home to another or another symptom of his supposed weirdness.

Cas squeezed Dean’s hand once before letting go, making himself comfortable on the carpet with Jack. The social worker was introducing them to Jack, giving the cookie-cutter speech about getting to know them and “You might be staying with them for a while” that Jack had probably heard half-dozen times before. Dean had heard it enough, himself.

Instead of listening, he watched Cas, crossing his legs pretzel style and leaving both hands in his lap. Cas tended to treat new kids like how he’d interact with a friend’s cat. Put yourself on their level. Make yourself available. Then wait.

Dean tried to be a little more proactive. He went to Jack’s other side, kneeling down to get closer to him. “Hey, kid. Wutcha playing?”

Jack looked over at him, a smile lighting his small face. “It’s the Battle of Alesia!”

Dean blinked. “Oh, yeah?”

Jack nodded. “Yup! It’s not a perfect demonstration since I just have these blocks and they’re all the same so it’s hard to tell the difference between the Romans and the Gauls but if you just  _ imagine _ these ones are purple,” he gestured to the smaller group of blocks in front of him. “and these ones are green,” he gestured to the rest of the blocks, some scattered around, more toward the back, even more in the basket. “Then it helps us understand what’s going on.”

Dean wasn’t sure if that was true. He had no idea what the fuck this kid was talking about.

He sort of knew about the Romans, though. Conquerors. Big military presence. “Romans are green, then?”

Jack looked over at him, sad and a little embarrassed. “No, Romans are purple. Tyrian purple was the trademark color of the Roman empire.” He winced a little. “I don’t know what the Gaul’s color was and I feel really really bad about that. But they were Celtics and Celtics are green so,” he gestured again.

Dean still felt side-swept. Had he really heard a Kindergartner say ‘Tyrian?’ Like from Game of Thrones.

He looked over at Cas, needing someone to confirm that he was actually having this conversation. Cas looked at the two of them with a soft smile, his chin in his hand propped with an elbow on his knee. He’d dressed business casual for the day: slacks and a white button down, rolled to the elbow. He’d wanted to make a good impression on the child.

Seeing his husband cross-legged on the floor in business casual, looking at him with such naked adoration made him turn back to the kid, his face bright red.

“That’s a lot of Celts and not a lot of Romans,” Dean said, instead of addressing anything else about what was going on.

“Gauls,” the five-year-old corrected Dean, a full-grown adult. “But, yeah! That’s why this battle is so cool. It was more of a siege which meant people still died, but they used their smartness to win instead of fighting.”

“Right,” Dean said. He looked back at Cas. 

Cas scooted forward, seemingly done with waiting if he needed to jump in to save his husband. “You have an amazing grasp on the battle, Jack. Tell me what you like about it.”

Jack blinked, taking in this new person. “I just said. I like that they used–”

“That’s not what I meant, although it is good to hear you don’t like violence.” Cas looked at Dean then, his eyebrow raised in a way that was supposed to communicate  _ ‘Child murderer? yeah right _ . _ ’ _ Dean got the message more because he’d known Cas for so long than any effective eyebrow communication on Cas’s part. He subtly gave Cas the finger behind the kid’s back. “I meant do you like history? Battle strategy? The Romans? The Gauls? Why play this battle right now?”

Jack lit up, happy at what Dean assumed was the only intelligent question he’d ever gotten from an adult.

“Well that’s easy! I gotta play battles because it’s the easiest thing to do with blocks. Blocks don’t do a lot. But people made battle strategy maps with all kinds of things so blocks work!”

Cas nodded like that was perfectly reasonable. “And you like battles?”

Jack’s face twisted and he shrugged. “Not really. I liked Rome a lot before I found out about all the bad things an empire does. Like in Star Wars.”

Dean’s ears perked up. He knew Star Wars!

“Awesome, man, so we have another soldier for the rebel alliance!” He held up his hand for a high five.

Jack shook his head. “No. I don’t like fighting.”

Dean’s hand lowered slowly, a little disappointing. “Not even if it’s to take down evil?”

Jack’s face scrunched up and he wriggled on the carpet. “I know it’s  _ necessary _ sometimes – like getting shots is necessary – but I don’t like it. And I’d rather not if I don’t have to.”

Dean was suddenly thrown again. How the fuck do you communicate with a kid like this?

“You know what else is Roman?” Cas asked, covering for Dean’s floundering. “And I bet we could make out of blocks?”

Jack perked up, a smile back on his face. “What?”

“Aquaducts.” Cas grinned, leaning to the side to grab a block. He paused when his fingers closed around it, turning to Jack. “May I?”

Jack nodded, rolling onto his knees to get a closer look at what Cas was doing.

He asked a million questions about the structure and history and cultural impact or whatever the fuck and Cas answered them, using the blocks to prop each other up and make a map of raised boards around the three of them. Dean sat on the ground, legs crossed, face propped in his hand, and watched.

He got what they said about the kid being weird. He wasn't child-murderer weird, but Dean could appreciate the struggle Jack must have had with the other children and every adult he’d come across. He didn’t know how he himself would have dealt with it if not for the weirdness that was his husband. Dean could only be grateful for that.

It’s like Dean always suspected: he was absolutely useless on his own. Good thing Cas was there.

Jack didn’t shy away from him, though. As Cas constructed the system of aquaducts, Jack crawled over both of their laps, getting a closer look and putting the blocks where Cas instructed. It made Dean feel better that while he’d struck out talking to the kid, it didn’t put Jack off him any.

This went on for a while, the system getting more and more complex, until the social worker waved at Dean from the door, beckoning to him. Dean left Jack and Cas with their complex game Dean didn’t understand and went back to the administration office so he could collect Jack’s things.

Jack didn’t have very much. Dean hadn’t expected him to, what with him only ever living in foster care his entire life, but he thought maybe he’s have a book or something. Whatever had taught him about this random Roman battle, at the very least.

But no. He had a tiny duffle bag that had enough shirts, pants, and underwear to last a kid seven days. And he had a blanket with R2D2 on it. And that was it.

The Star Wars blanket comforted Dean some. The kid might not like fighting, but maybe he was a droids kid. Dean might be able to work with that.

Dean put the bag over his shoulder, inhaling a big breath, trying to psych himself up to go back out there. 

The case worker smiled at him from behind her desk. She’s worked with them before. “You’ll do fine, Dean.”

Dean decided to believe her.

He went back out to greet his husband and their new foster kid. It was time to take them both home.

  
  


####  III

Dean forced himself to breathe.

He’d come a long way since that first placement. Since Krissy – as if he’d ever forget her. But here he was, again on the verge of yelling at a girl in their care who was  _ deliberately _ trying to piss him off.

This one was a teenager which was even worse. She was angry. He  _ knew _ she was angry and he could even relate to  _ why _ she was angry but god _ damn _ she was not making things easy.

Claire Novak had come to their home only the day before, marked a runaway and a flight risk, having escaped the two previous foster homes before this one. She’d been kind of quiet, a little broody, as Dean and Cas introduced themselves, introduced Jack and the other foster kids. There weren’t that many at the moment: a pair of siblings as their parents scrambled to find jobs to appease the CPS, an infant that was left at the hospital and awaiting to be approved for adoption, adoptive parents already waiting, and a long-term placement that had been there a while, Alex. And Jack, of course.

They’d ended up adopting Jack for his eighth birthday, a little over three years ago. He was still just as weird as when they’d first got him, but Dean had gotten a little weirder to meet him where he was. They bonded over Star Wars and Dean had found out Jack really liked cars so Dean was happy to teach him everything he knew.

Cas was still Jack’s favorite but Dean couldn’t blame him for that: Cas was Dean’s favorite, too.

Claire had accepted them all with a curt nod and a stiff jaw. No doubt she’d suffered through a half a dozen introductions just like these. He’d be surprised if she’d even tried to remember any of their names.

Her file was pretty bleak, Dean had to admit. Her dad had disappeared when she was eight and her mom followed two years after, neglecting to pick Claire up from school one day and never coming back. Claire had taken some time looking for her mother, living on the streets, before she was picked up by social services and officially put in the system. Every time she’d been placed in foster, however, she’d run away, still looking for her mom. At least according to her child psychologist.

Dean had assumed that had meant Claire had been worried about her mother. Trying to find her to make sure she was safe.

Looking at her now, though, he thought Claire might only be looking for Amelia Novak for the express purpose of kicking her ass.

She was  _ angry _ . Thirteen and  _ livid. _ A kid who was also a teenager and absolutely not afraid to fight Dean or the government or the world if it meant she could get her revenge.

“Sorry I don’t want to waste my time gluing dolls on biplanes and singing fucking kumbaya,” Claire spat at him. “I kind of want more from my life than to be one of the boring footnotes in the story of Hasslehoff and the Doof: a couple of child hoarders.”

Dean couldn’t think of any way to respond to that other than chastising her with a “Language” that came out through gritted teeth.

She flipped him off

Dean saw a lot of himself in her which just pissed him off more – he was an asshole.

He had caught her in the front entryway, bags on her shoulders and blond hair tucked up into a skull cap, as if that would make her harder to identify. She’d been obviously trying to sneak out while they’d all been making s’mores in the fireplace: a tradition for every new kid in the house.

Why she thought they wouldn’t notice she was gone during family time, Dean had no idea.

He cupped her elbow – not so much a grab as a guiding hold – and took her out the front door. She looked like she was going to try to struggle but when she saw where they were going, she went without resisting.

He didn’t really want to take her outside, afraid that would give her more opportunity to bolt, but if this was going to get loud, he didn’t want to put the other kids through that. They’d been through enough.

She yanked away from him once they were on the step and Dean let her go easily, but he did put himself between her and the street, blocking her in against the house.

He folded his arms. “What did we do wrong?”

Claire blinked, clearly startled. “What?”

“You want to leave,” Dean shrugged. “We’re supposed to make you feel at home and cherished or whatever.” Dean saw Claire’s mouth twitch. He tried not to feel too smug about it. “If you want to leave that means we’re doing something wrong.”

Claire snorted but not in a kind way. “Don’t think you’re that important. Why does me trying to get the fuck outta dodge have to do anything with you? I’m a rascal – haven’t you heard? A fuckup. Runaway. A problem.”

“Oh my  _ God _ , shut up,” Dean said, putting his fingers to his temple. Claire did shut up but more out of shock than obedience. “Don’t you get tired of feeling sorry for yourself?” Dean asked her. “You gonna let some asshole lawyers or government stooges tell you who you are? I thought you were cooler than that. That’s a limp dick move.”

“Language,” Claire scolded, weakly.

Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay.” He sighed. “If you really wanna run, I’m not gonna stop you. I’ll even give you a head start: wait until morning to call social services. But, honestly, you’re a  _ kid _ .”

“I’m thirteen!”

“A  _ kid _ !” Dean repeated. “And you’re not gonna get very far. You’ll either be picked off by any of the fucked up predators on the streets or you’ll be collared and caged by the dog catchers who pretend to be child protective services. And whoever you get put with next isn’t going to be as chill and kickass as we are.”

Claire rolled her eyes this time. “You call model planes and screaming kids chill and kickass?”

“Hell yeah!” Dean said enthusiastically, pumping one fist before folding it back in against his chest. Then he remembered that wasn’t ‘open body language’ and he dropped his arms.

He sighed. “Look, kid. You don’t know what the hell you’re doing. Neither do we. But we can figure it out. And, hell, we could probably  _ help _ you find your mom.” He raised his eyebrow. “That  _ is _ what you were trying to do, right?”

Claire crossed her arms.

Dean snorted. “Right.” He put his hands in his pockets. Not as open as hands by his sides but, whatever. “So we good? You gonna get your ass in the house and eat a goddamn s’more like a sweet little angel?”

Claire shuffled on her feet, her arms still crossed, but her mouth kept twitching. “Man, you’re really letting loose with those swears, huh?”

“Cas never lets me swear!” Dean threw his hands up then pointed at Claire. “You’re not allowed to tell him I said ‘fuck’ in front of you. That’s my condition. You rat me out and we’re not helping you find your mom. Capisce?”

Claire rolled her eyes. He was bluffing and she knew it. Goddamn kid. 

Instead of answering, she turned around and walked back into the house. Dean had to scramble to follow her.

She dropped her bags in the entryway, peeling her hat off of her head and letting the blond curls tumble out, sweeping over her shoulder. She tossed the hat like a frisbee behind her so it landed with the rest of her stuff while she walked through the rooms on the ground floor to find Cas and the other kids at the back of the house, gathered around the fireplace, each patiently waiting with a marshmallow on a stick.

She plopped down in the middle, legs folded, and snatched Jack’s stick, pushing the marshmallow in the fire for herself. Jack was only too happy to assemble another marshmallow for himself but Cas still scolded her, baby in his lap.

“Welcome, Claire! But you shouldn’t steal the others’ things.”

Claire didn’t bother looking away from her marshmallow. “Dean said ‘fuck’.”

The siblings and Jack all gasped, scandalized, while Alex just snickered, looking between Cas and Dean.

Dean threw his hands up. “Come on, man.”

Claire turned and winked at him.

“Dean.” Cas said, his voice low and dangerous.

Dean gestured at her. “You’re gonna believe her? Over me? Your husband whom you love? And who has never lied to you ever?”

Cas raised an eyebrow. “Are you saying you didn’t swear in front of this child?”

“I mean, she’s thirteen,” Dean grumbled.

Alex snickered again and Jack turned from Dean to Cas, going “oooooh” like Dean had just been called to the principal’s office.

Which he kind of had.

Dean cleared his throat. “Could I get you something to drink, dear?”

“Just come sit.”

Dean sighed. “Yeah, okay.”

Dean took a seat next to Claire who was just pulling her marshmallow out of the fire, nicely golden with a little burn near the top.

Dean stole it from her, picking it right off the stick and dropping it in his mouth.

“Hey!” Claire cried.

“This was Jack’s marshmallow, I don’t want to hear it!” Dean said, his mouth hanging open and fanning his face at the extreme heat of the marshmallow. “Fuck, hot!”

The kids gasped again.

“Dean, for the love of  _ God _ .” Cas said

“Shit, sorry. Wait. Ow, fuck. Shit! Sorry!”

All of the kids were laughing now, even Claire, though she hid it behind her hand.

“He need some milk!” Alex exclaimed.

Cas sighed, passing Dean the baby, and got to his feet. “I’ll get you some milk, you big baby. Try not to steal any more candy from children while I’m gone, okay?”

Dean stuck his tongue out at him: bright red and covered in melted marshmallow. Cas scrunched his nose in disgust but kissed Dean on the head and walked out.

“Gross,” Jack commented, his own nose scrunched, before he turned his attention back to his marshmallow.

“Can I say fuck too, Dean?” asked Asher, the younger brother.

“No, you cannot,” Dean said, licking at his teeth to try and ease some of the pain in his mouth. He adjusted the baby in his lap as she tried to pull on his ears. “If I get in trouble for saying the f word, you  _ definitely _ do. Wouldn’t be fair otherwise.”

Asher nodded as if this made sense. Dean was glad that these kids seemed to at least have a sense of fairness.

Jack held out a fully assembled s'more to him, the marshmallow almost completely black.

Dean took it with the hand that wasn’t holding a baby, looking at his son with a softness he’d gotten used to. “Thanks, buddy.”

He put the entire s’more in his mouth whole to make the kids laugh again, which it did, but the s’more was  _ very _ hot and he had to wave at his face again.

“What did I  _ say _ ?” Cas said, coming back and handing Dean a glass of milk.

“Jack gave it to me!” Dean said, his mouth still full of s’more. He bit his tongue. “Ow,  _ fuck _ .”

“Dean!”

“ _ Sorry!” _

####  IV

Dean wouldn’t have said he was  _ hopeless _ with teenagers. He did remember being one and he had helped raise Sammy in his most turbulent teenage years. So he could deal with teenagers fine.

It was dealing with teenagers without acting like one that caused Dean the most trouble.

“You’re out of your freaking mind,” he said to Claire, grabbing a particularly crispy fry from her side of the tray. She smacked at his hand. “You honestly think Dumbledore could take Darth Vader?”

“Fuck yeah!” She said, winking at Dean as he shot her a look. She’d never taken to their no-swear rule and revelled in the fact that Dean would get punished for saying fuck while she would not. Stupid Cas. “Vader can do, like,  _ one _ thing. Dumbledore could take him down with a nonverbal spell even  _ if _ he was being force choked.”

“Vader has a lightsaber.”

“Dumbledore has a  _ magic wand _ .”

Dean snorted. “Okay, but this brings into question if the Force could work like magic. In this hypothetical scenario where Dumbledore and Darth Vader have to fight, they exist in the same universe. So is Dumblefore using magic him just tapping into the force? Since Star Wars takes place a long time ago in a galaxy far far away, is how the Skywalkers interact with the force just a primitive form of what Dumbledore and the other wizards can do with a wand? Would Dumbledore have the advantage because he has new practices in how to manipulate the force or would Vader win because he’s more bodily in tune with it?”

Dean looked up from where he was systematically ripping a napkin apart when Claire didn’t answer. She was just looking at him, shaking her head, but her mouth turned in a fond smirk. “God, you’re a geek.”

“How am  _ I _ a geek?” Dean squawked. “You take that back!”

Claire cackled. “Did you forget I wasn’t Jack? I’m sure Jack would love to talk about magical Force theory with you, Dean.” She lobbed a fry at him. “I, however, am only interested in ass-kicking. So if you could find a – what do you like to call yourself? A certified badass? If you could find me a certified badass to talk to that would be great.”

Dean threw another fry at her and she laughed, even while they both heard a barked “ _ Dean!” _ from across the restaurant.

“She started it!” Dean complained, turning a pout toward Cas who was coming up on them from the bathroom. “Why do  _ I _ always get yelled at?”

Cas sighed, folding himself into the booth next to Dean, extending his arm across the back of the booth. “Because  _ you _ are supposed to be the adult, Dean.” He rolled his eyes, picking up a stray fry that was on the table – the one Claire had thrown – and eating it. “You’re supposed to set a good example.

Dean scowled. “What, like talking with your mouth full?”

Cas made mocking noises back at him while leaning in for a kiss. Dean kissed him back.

“Gross.” Claire said, flatly, from the other side of the table. Dean turned to see her watching them blandly while chewing on a French fry. She couldn’t hide the fondness in her eyes, though.

Dean grinned, winking at her.

“So am I ever gonna find out why we’re here?” Claire asked, swiping another fry through some ketchup. “It’s kinda weird you left the small militia of young children at home with a thirteen year old to buy your resident troubled teen some french fries.”

“They’re not a militia,” Dean scoffed. “Oh, God, can you imagine?”

Claire snorted.

“Jack can handle the others,” Cas answered Claire, cutting an exasperated look at his husband. “We had something we wanted to talk to you about.”

Claire’s hand stilled from where she was reaching for the ketchup with another fry. She slowly lowered the fry back to the tray. Putting her hands in her lap. “Oh?”

Dean frowned, watching her. She was no longer the angry thirteen year old they’d taken in. She was fifteen now and, still angry, but not as much these days. They’d found her mother a few months ago, living in a commune with a bunch of cultists who wanted to fuck Jesus. Discovering that had done a lot for Claire learning to let go.

But he didn’t often see this smaller, more afraid, Claire. He didn’t like thinking it was them that were making her feel this way.

He reached across the table to put a gentle hold on her arm. “Chill out. You’re not in trouble.”

She rolled her eyes but kept her hands in her lap. “Obviously I’m not in trouble,” she said, her voice quavering just a little to betray her worry. “I’ve done nothing wrong. Ever. In my life.”

Dean smiled. “I know this. And I love you.”

She smiled back, scrunching her nose up at Dean. He stuck his tongue out back.

Cas sighed, but he was also smiling. “You’re not in trouble,” he repeated. “But Dean and I have something we want to ask you. And we thought it would be best to do it without the others.”

Claire’s forehead scrunched, still worried but mostly suspicious. “Okay…?”

Dean sighed, getting nervous himself now. He leaned forward.

“Your social worker called,” Dean started and Claire immediately tensed up. “Will you stop? I told you to chill out.” She narrowed her eyes at him and he rolled his. “You’ve been with us over two years now.”

Claire waited for him to continue. Huffing in exasperation when he didn’t. “Yeah, I know. ‘Longest she’s ever stayed in one place!’” she said, mockingly. “‘We didn’t think she could do it!’ So what?”

“So they’re letting us adopt you now, brat,” Dean answered, leaning back and crossing his arms. “That’s ‘so what’?”

Claire froze, her eyes wide. “Wh– what?”

“If you want,” Cas said, squeezing Dean around the shoulders and extending his other hand across the table. “Your social worker’s been on your case for a while and, since we found your mom and since you’ve been with us for so long, they’ve convinced the courts to let us legally adopt you. But we won’t if that’s not what you want.”

Cas looked at his hand where it was still extended across the table and how Claire hadn’t moved to take it. She’d been watching it, avoiding their eyes. Cas pulled it back toward himself and Claire’s eyes stayed on the place on the table where it had been.

“If you’re happy with how things are,” Cas continued, his tone deflated a little. “You can still live with us. For the next three years until you turn 18 if you want. But we’d like to make you ours officially. You don’t have to be a Winchester on paper – I understand if you’d like to keep your family name – but–”

Claire stood up. Dean automatically moved out of the booth, ready to cut her off at the door if she ran. “Claire, come on, we–”

She moved quickly once he was standing, but not to the door, like he’d expected. Instead she rushed him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burrowing her face into his chest.

Dean, startled, held his arms awkwardly away from his body. He wasn’t sure what to do with this Claire: vulnerable and not acting like an asshole. He was afraid to touch her.

But she clung to him. And he lowered his arms to wrap around her. And she clung to him. And he squeezed her.

He looked over her head at Cas who still sat in the booth, watching them with a smile and tears springing to his eyes. Dean smiled softly back and jerked his head, telling Cas to get his ass up and join the hug.

Cas did, sliding out of the booth and coming around Claire’s back to wrap his arms around them both.

“So is that a yes?” Dean asked, moving his arm so he could get a hold on Cas, too. “You wanna be a Winchester?”

“ _ Fuck _ , no, I’m not gonna be a Winchester.” Claire said through a laugh that sounded wet. “But you can adopt me. If you have to.”

Cas’s face had scrunched up at the swear but he didn’t call her on it which Dean thought was colossally unfair.

“We have to,” Dean said, instead of complaining at that. “I don’t make the rules.”

Claire laughed. “Yes, you literally do.”

Dean grinned. “That’s right! And that’s something you have to deal with now, sweetheart.”

Cas laughed and Dean stuck his tongue out. “Hey, I waited until we adopted her to use a pet name, I win.”

“We haven’t adopted her yet,” Cas said, rubbing his teary face on Dean’s shoulder. “And I know that’s not the first time you’ve called her a pet name.”

“You have no proof.”

“It’s true,” Claire piped up from between them. “You’ve called me sweetheart before.”

“Betrayal!” Dean crowed. “From my own daughter!”

Claire laughed again but the sound was too bright to be mean. Her eyes shone and she’d squeezed Dean extra tight when he’d called her his daughter.

They were making a scene in this Five Guys, for sure.

“You think maybe we should get outta here?” Dean asked, looking down at his husband and then further down at their new kid. “Head home?”

Claire sniffed, rubbing her wet face in the chest of Dean’s flannel. She learned this shit from Cas.

“Yeah,” she said, her face set in soft wonder. “Let’s go home.”

####  V

Having two teenagers and Dean in the house meant that it wasn’t uncommon to hear a door slam. Cas kept trying to rehabilitate them, afraid that loud and aggressive sounds like door slamming might be triggering to some of their fosters – and every time a new kid came to stay, they got better about it for a while – but the energy of Claire and Dean in particular led to door slamming more often than not.

There were different tones to each. Claire’s was stormy because she stormed everywhere: seventeen and pissed off which was a different flavor of her fifteen and pissed off and yet even more different from her thirteen and pissed off. Each evolution kept getting better in Dean’s opinion but he couldn’t tell her that or she’d rebel against her own rebellion.

Jack’s door slams were often just due to over-excitement. He was still a weird kid, more prone to quiet bouts of intense focus than any kind of energetic effusiveness but he was still extraordinarily friendly and a little bit spacey so he’d slam a door just because he’d forget he was in the middle of closing it.

Dean had just always slammed doors growing up to assert his manliness which was exactly the kind of domineering nature they tried to stay away from in fostering so he was still trying to break that. It was easy to forget sometimes, though, with all the other door-slamming happening.

Dean had been waiting for the exciting slam of the front door for hours now: he’d been expecting Jack home since 4 and it was now 7 without word.

He didn’t sit on the stairs and watch the front door: a heroic choice he should really be getting more credit for. Instead, he sat at the kitchen table with his arms crossed, glaring intently at the clock. He relaxed his face into a smile whenever a kid walked through – remembering his Foster Parent Training and not wanting any of the kids to think he’s mad because of them – but as soon as he’s left alone, he went back to glaring.

He didn’t even stop glaring when he heard the door slam open. It was an angry slam so it was clearly Claire.

Except it wasn’t Claire that sulked into the kitchen. It was Jack.

Dean was on his feet immediately. “And where the hell were you?”

Jack crossed his arms. “It’s a Friday. I went out with some kids from school.”

“What, and you’re allergic to the phone? I’ve been calling you.”

“I was busy.”

Dean’s eyebrows leaped halfway up his face. “You were  _ busy _ ? You were busy. What the fuck kind of excuse is that? Does that fly with your teachers? Why do you think that would work on me?”

Jack wasn’t looking at Dean but instead at the floor. His eyebrows scrunched. His jaw clenched. 

He didn’t say anything.

Dean snorted in disgust. “Go to your room. I’ll send in your favorite dad and maybe you’ll have something better to say than you were ‘busy.’”

Jack stomped off without a word, his footsteps on the stairs loud enough to shake the whole house.

Dean collapsed back into his chair with a sigh.

Cas walked in from the garage where he’d been painting his new model. He looked at the stairs before walking over to put a hand on Dean’s shoulder, bending down to kiss his ear. “Was that Jack?”

Dean sighed again. “Yeah. He’s home, finally.”

Cas released a breath of relief. “Good. I was getting worried. It’s not like him to go out without telling us.”

“I know!” Dean groaned. “And then when he got home he acted like a total dick. Didn’t even apologize! I was losing my goddamn mind over here and he rolls in like it’s no big deal.”

Cas hummed. “Did you tell him you were worried?”

Dean pulled back to turn offended eyes on his husband. “Of course I was fucking worried! What kind of shit-ass parent does he think I am?”

Cas screwed his face up, his nose scrunching. “You don’t express yourself very well, dear.”

Dean scoffed but didn’t argue. He knew he jumped to anger. He was working on it.

“Well, you’re up,” Dean told him. “Maybe you can find out what happened.”

Cas hummed again, leaning down to press a kiss to the corner of Dean’s mouth, before going to the fridge and pouring a glass of water. He took a long drink of the water before filling it back up and taking it upstairs to Jack.

Dean dropped his chin to his chest and laughed quietly to himself. Cas’s favorite parenting advice was to drink a glass of water about it.

The front door slammed open again. Process of elimination told Dean it was definitely Claire this time. 

Dean looked up to watch as she popped her head into the kitchen and said “Home!” She started to pull back, presumably to go up to her room before she popped her head back in, eyebrow raised. “You okay?”

Dean groaned, rubbing a hand over his face. “Yeah, kid, I’m fine.”

Claire hummed, a lot like Cas had, but with about 8 more tablespoons of judgement on top. She came into the kitchen and sat across from him. “Right.”

Dean sighed. “How’s Alex?”

Alex being the kid they’d been long-term fostering when Claire had first arrived. The two girls had kept in touch, which Cas thought was very sweet and made the social workers very happy. It was good for foster kids to form connections or whatever.

Anyway, Alex had gotten adopted by the Sheriff of the next town over so she and Claire hung out a lot.

Claire crossed her arms. “She’s fine. Jody wants to do dinner soon.”

Dean grunted. “Thanks. I’ll text her.” He rubbed his other hand over his face. “And  _ also _ thank you for texting  _ me _ that you were going over there today. It was the  _ responsible _ thing to do.”

Claire’s eyebrows were still high on her forehead. “...okay.”

Dean groaned and dropped his head to the table.

“Damn,” Claire said from above him, reaching across the table to ruffle his hair. “Who pissed in your Cheerios?”

“Your brother,” Dean said, his voice muffled by the table. “He got home a little bit before you. But he didn’t tell us he was going out.”

Claire sucked air in through her teeth. “Yikes. That’s not good.”

“Thank you!” Dean said, picking his head up and gesturing at her. “Totally a no-no move!”

Claire nodded but narrowed her eyes at him. “Did you yell at him?”

Dean frowned. “No.”

Claire didn’t say anything but her eyes narrowed further.

“No!” Dean repeated. “He said he didn’t call because he was ‘busy’ and I let him know what a terrible fucking excuse that was.”

Claire nodded again, crossing her arms. “And you let him know by…..”

“I didn’t yell,” Dean said, adamantly, pointing at her. “I had a firm tone.”

Claire snorted. “Right.”

Dean opened his mouth to respond but, just then, Cas came back into the kitchen with an empty glass and a frown.

Dean frowned back. “Babe, what happened?”

Cas put the empty glass on the table and took a seat next to Dean, letting Dean pull his chair to his side and put his arm around him. “He yelled at me.”

Dean straightened up immediately. “He fucking  _ what?!” _

Cas rolled his eyes and shoved Dean with his shoulder. “Dean.”

Dean looked to where Cas had just directed his head and rolled his eyes. “She’s seventeen, Cas, she’s heard the word fuck. Tell me about Jack.”

Cas sighed. “He was just… weirdly hostile? I went in with the water and told him how we were worried, you just suck at expressing that.” Claire snickered from the other side of the table. They ignored her. “He took the glass, drank the whole thing and then said ‘Thank you, get out.’”

Dean shook his head. Even when he was being moody, Jack was unfailingly polite.

“He’s actually upset,” Cas said, looking at Dean with a kind of soft desperation. “This is completely new territory.”

Dean nodded, psyching himself up. “Okay. It’s okay, I can go talk to him.”

Claire snorted again. “What? No.”

This time, both Dean and Cas turned to look at her.

Her arms were crossed and she smirked at them from across the table. Her eyebrows were furrowed, though, which gave away her concern.

“What?” Dean asked her.

She rolled her eyes. “Look, no offense? You’re not exactly in touch with the youth.”

Dean reeled back, making a noise in his throat that sounded a lot like ‘How dare you’ but even more like acid reflux.

Claire rolled her eyes again, before sighing and getting to her feet. “I’ll talk to him.”

Dean and Cas looked at her, cutting their eyes to each other in mild panic.

Claire scowled at them. “I’m not gonna make him unionize with me against the both of you, get a grip. I can help – I am his sister.”

And Dean and Cas couldn’t really argue with that. And furthermore, they didn’t want to. It was a dirty trick, Claire pulling out the family card, but it did the job of getting Dean and Cas to let her do what she wanted.

“Bring him another glass of water,” Cas told her.

Claire snorted but did as she was told.

After she’d disappeared up the stairs, Dean and Cas turned to look at each other.

“What dy’a reckon?” Dean asked.

Cas shrugged. “Dinner?”

Dean sighed, but his mouth ticked up at the corner. “I meant with the kids.”

“I know. But I think Claire can handle it. And either way, nothing we can do down here but wait.”

Dean couldn’t argue with that.

The house was weirdly empty – one of the toddlers they had was in the living room, absolutely transfixed by the 87th showing of  _ Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse _ , and the other one on a weekend visit to her birth mom. Besides that, it was just Jack and Claire. Dean could hardly remember the last time they had so few kids.

The baby had already eaten so Dean and Cas fed themselves, keeping one ear on the baby monitor and the other one straining to hear voices from upstairs. Dean would catch himself glaring at the ceiling when cas would run a hand over his or gently kick him under the table.

“It’s killing me,” he would say.

And Cas would just hum or say “I know.”

They did hear a couple bumps but Cas convinced Dean it was better to let Jack approach them than act like they were suspicious of the kids and Dean hated it but Cas was right, so they stayed put.

They ended up playing cards across the kitchen table, waiting for their kids to be done planning their revolt or whatever. Dean kept winning and he highly suspected Cas kept throwing the games to keep Dean complacent and that only irritated him more.

Eventually, Claire emerged with an empty glass and a tired but pleased look on her face. “He’s ready for ya, chief,” sha said, patting Cas on the shoulder on her way to an empty chair.

Cas nodded, putting down his cards and standing, leaning over the table to kiss Dean on the head before taking the empty glass from Claire, refilling it, and heading upstairs.

Dean turned to Claire. “That kid is gonna have to pee so bad.”

Claire grinned. “He already took a potty break while I was with him, he’ll be fine.”

Dean nodded, all of the tension draining out of him. He leaned his elbows heavily on the table, looking exhaustedly at Claire, silently asking for a briefing.

“He’s fine,” Claire repeated. “He was invited to go hang out with these kids from school but they were doing things Jack wasn’t interested in and they weren’t really interested in anything Jack had to say so he was just feeling weird and rejected.”

Dean nodded, sagely. “Yeah, teenagers suck.” Then he sat up. “Wait, when you say the kids were doing things you don’t mean–”

Claire rolled her eyes, crossing her arms on the table with a sigh. “No, not drugs or anything, relax. More like going to the mall and daring each other to jump in the fountain. Stupid kid stuff. Jack just wanted to talk about the history of meteorology or some shit.”

Dean nodded, relieved and with a half smile of amusement. “Shouldn’t have shown him that Eddie Redmayne balloon movie.”

“Felicity Jones is hot, though,” Claire said, fairly.

Dean just nodded, with a chuckle, looking down at the table. Felicity Jones was hot.

Claire cleared her throat. “Dean?”

Dean looked over at her. “Yeah, kid?”

“That was okay, right? That I went to talk to him?”

Dean blinked. “Yeah, Claire. I’m glad you did. You helped him.

Claire nodded but she wouldn’t look him in the eye.

“I just–” She swallowed. “I don't want to mess him up like I'm messed up.”

Dean looked at her, her blond hair falling in her face, her fingers tracing circles on the table. They were covered in rings. She wore a long necklace with a pendant she’d made herself in shop class and a leather jacket.

Looking at her Dean saw himself. He used to dress like that. He used to be afraid to take in kids because he didn’t want them to inherit his baggage.

He leaned over the table and stopped her hand with his own.

“You’re not messed up, Claire,” he told her.

She snorted, indelicately.

Dean took his hand back. “Or maybe you are!” Dean continued. “But so am I. And so is Cas.” He shrugged. “That’s the secret: we’re all messed up. We just have to try and be good to each other. And I know you’ve been good to Jack.”

Claire breathed out slowly through her nose, her shoulders untensing my fractions as Dean watched. She nodded.

“You’d be good, too, if you didn’t yell at him,” Claire said, finally looking back up at him.

“I don’t yell!” Dean yelled, and Claire snorted again, laughing into her hand.

Dean grinned. “Come on. Cas probably put on a movie for the kid. Let’s go crash their party.”

Claire grinned back and got up from the table.

They both raced upstairs and crashed into Jack’s room throwing their bodies over Cas and Jack’s legs so they could all curl up and finish watching  _ The Greatest Showman _ .

  
  
  
  
  
  


####  +I

They were just having breakfast. This wasn’t where the day was supposed to go.

They’d been arguing about something – Dean couldn’t remember, it could have been  _ literally _ anything. If Moana counted as a Disney Princess or if mini M&M’s were truly superior to all other types (spoiler alert: they were.)

But in the middle of the argument, Dean had scraped some of his potato hash from his plate to hers because he knew she liked it the best and she’d said “Thanks, Dad.” before continuing on to her point.

Dean had frozen. Then he’d put his plate down, and made his way out of the kitchen into the garage to go sit in the impala and quietly have a heart attack.

That’s where he was now, forehead on the steering wheel and trying to remember how to breathe.

He didn’t know why it was hitting him so hard. Claire was 18 now and, legally, she didn’t need them anymore. She’d always be family – she was their daughter, and they knew she knew that – but once she’d hit 18, he’d kind of given up on her ever thinking of him, or them, as her dad.

And then she just…. hit him with this shit.

There was a vent in the garage that led right into the kitchen so while Dean was isolated to feel all of his emotions, he could still hear the family he’d left behind in there.

“What the fuck just happened?” he heard Claire ask. And, wow. It really hadn’t been that long since he’d escaped, had it? Heart attack minutes were much longer than normal minutes.

Jack answered in a bored and muffled voice. He probably hadn’t even bothered to look up from his book. “You called him ‘dad’.”

"What? No I didn't."

"Yeah, you said, 'Thanks, Dad.'"

“No, I said, 'Thanks, Dean,"

Dean listened to them bicker as Cas opened the door to the garage, carrying a baby.

They were only fostering this baby for a couple days while her adoptive parents finished processing their paperwork but Dean thought she was a pretty cool baby. He didn’t mind hanging out with her.

Especially now.

Cas handed Dean the baby through the open window of the impala and turned back around, walking back into the house, without saying a word. Dean was grateful. Babies were very good to hold onto when you were feeling a lot of emotions. They were comforting and couldn’t give less of a shit. She played with his ears while he wiped his eyes on her belly.

At a later time, it would probably be deeply hilarious to Dean that when he’d excused himself to have a mental breakdown over his adult adopted daughter calling him ‘dad’, Cas’s first instinct was to go fetch a baby and bring it to him to cry over. But that time was not now.

Even through Dean’s meltdown, he could hear when Cas re-entered the kitchen. "Claire, you should really be more careful, you know Dean has a weak heart."

"I didn't  _ do _ anything!"

Because Cas, of course, had missed their conversation while he was fetching the baby.

Jack filled him in. "She doesn't realize she called him Dad."

Claire sputtered but Cas’s voice, when he spoke next, was suddenly very soft.

"Oh, sweetheart. That's really rather sweet. I'm glad to know you're starting to think of us as your fathers."

And Claire said "I  _ doN'T _ .” But it was such an obvious lie, it took Dean an additional five whole minutes just to get his heart to calm the fuck down.

When he finally felt like he could look at Claire without letting out any tears, he carried the baby back into the kitchen.

He knew his eyes were red but they were at least dry. If anyone looked too closely at the chest of the baby’s onesie, though, they’d get the whole story.

Everyone was done eating, Cas at the sink rinsing dishes and putting them in the dishwasher. Jack was still reading. Claire was tapping her phone idly against the table.

There were other kids there, too. Jordie and Timmy and Tina. But they just quietly looked between Claire and Dean, waiting to see what would happen. 

Claire cleared her throat, not making eye contact. “Um, I’m off to hang out with Alex.” She stood up, pushing her chair in. Dean watched her nervously tuck a piece of hair behind her ear.

She still wasn’t looking at him but she kind of turned toward him a little bit. Then she said, “Bye, Dad.”, her voice cracking on the ‘dad’ and all but ran out of the house.

Dean took his previous seat, shoving the baby into Jack’s hands so he could fully fold over the table, putting his forehead to the wooden top.

He could hear the other kids giggling, but Jack rubbed his back with the hand that wasn’t holding the baby. And Cas came up behind him and kissed him behind the ear.

He whispered into his ear. “We did good, Dean. We did good.”

Breakfast continued around him and over him and next to him, as his husband and his son and the three kids that were only here for a little but Dean would care for for the rest of his life chattered and ate and cleaned up and would sometimes touch him softly just to remind him they were there.

And Dean thought he would never be ready for this.

But that was probably okay.

**Author's Note:**

> And that's it! My first 5+1, how exciting.
> 
> Special thanks to my betas, QueenAndThree and profanitybasedfun from the [Profound Bond](https://discord.gg/GGbw2NP) discord. Y'all were so quick and lovely, thank you.
> 
> And, of course, none of this would have been possible if not for Hectatess. Thank you so much for working on this with me.
> 
> As usual I am [Saywhatjessie](https://saywhatjessie.tumblr.com) on tumblr and you can reblog my post [here](https://saywhatjessie.tumblr.com/post/618317073902338048/written-for-the-perfect-pair-bang-105k-art-by) or the official PPB post [here](https://perfectpairbang.tumblr.com/post/618258075369013248/title-five-times-dean-felt-out-of-his-depth-and).


End file.
